


Fangs and Stone

by OperaPhantom



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Alternate Universe - Victorian, Bisexual Sansa Stark, Character Turned Into Vampire, Creepy Petyr Baelish, F/F, F/M, I'm Bad At Summaries, I'm Bad At Titles, Minor Character Death, Minor Violence, Multi, Sansa Stark-centric, Vampire Bites, Vampire Turning, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-31
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:27:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27315508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OperaPhantom/pseuds/OperaPhantom
Summary: Sansa escapes the Vale and finds herself during a horrendous storm, finding refuge in an abandoned castle that proves to be not so abandoned after all.
Relationships: Ellaria Sand/Sansa Stark, Oberyn Martell/Ellaria Sand, Oberyn Martell/Ellaria Sand/Sansa Stark, Oberyn Martell/Sansa Stark
Comments: 6
Kudos: 59





	Fangs and Stone

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Halloween! Enjoy this short (for me) vampire AU in honor of spooky season.

_**1830s, Westeros** _

The heathers and grasses flattened against the ground, the storm driving them down. Clouds obscured the moon and cast the world into darkness. All the creatures that made their homes on the moor were snug in their homes. Tonight was no night to be outside.

It was, however, the night Sansa chose to flee. Correction, the night she had to flee. She couldn’t stay any longer, not with the way Petyr looked at her. He'd always had hunger, ravenous and possessive, in his eyes; she became used to it, and did everything she could to discourage him. Time after time, she put him off. Sweet Robin needed her, or she was planning a game for him, or Aunt Lysa needed her for something. When Petyr held her against a tree on the grounds and kissed her against her will, she ran to her aunt in tears. Unknown to her, Robin had seen it all and followed to tell his mother that Petyr had hurt her. Despite Aunt Lysa’s love for Petyr, her love for her family was stronger. Her aunt soothed them both, promising them that everything would be well as she patted her scared niece’s hair.

Then came Aunt Lysa’s illness, one that quickly led to her death. Suspiciously quick, one might call it. After that, Petyr changed. He often came to her room when she changed for bed, saying he would treat her well and promising her gold, jewels, fine silks. He would give her anything, he said, if she would only say she loved him and would marry him. Each night she refused, and told him the same things. She said that he was distraught with grief for her Aunt and lonely, projecting his desire for a companion onto her; that not enough time had passed, and it was improper for him to marry again so soon; that Robin would be confused for his cousin to become his mother. She told him anything she could think of to put him off. However, she couldn’t rebuff him forever. Petyr became desperate, more forceful and vehement that she accept him. Sansa feared that one day, he would decide her consent was not needed.

Suddenly Sweet Robin began showing the same signs as Aunt Lysa did when she sickened. With Robin featuring so much in her rejections, Sansa knew that Petyr must be the cause. She refused to let her cousin perish because of Petyr’s obsession with Tully women.

She told Petyr she would marry him. Taking inspiration from old Valyrian myths, however, she made some conditions. Sansa told him she wouldn’t marry him until she finished her trousseau. He offered to pay for fine seamstresses to help her, but she insisted that she alone work on it. She told him that for a happy marriage, it had to be only the bride and her family who touched them, and she did so wish for their marriage to be happy. It only took a long look with her big, blue eyes for him to agree. Of course he, so sure of his own cleverness, never thought she would, or could, trick him.

And so every day she worked on her wedding trousseau, away from Petyr’s insatiable, greedy gaze; she made up some story about how it was bad luck for a groom to see his bride’s things before the wedding. Every day, she sewed as slowly as possible. And every night, when the manor was asleep, she carefully undid most of her work. She thought she was done for when Robin caught her one night. Taking advantage of his love of games and dislike of his new guardian, she said it was a game she played with Petyr. Believing, rightly so, that Petyr would win if he said anything, her cousin kept silent.

Yet again, she could only hold Petyr off for so long. Sansa was surprised one day to see three seamstresses with Petyr. With that sharp smile on his face, his smiles never reached his eyes, he told her they were to help her prepare for the wedding. She smiled and simpered, chirped her pretty words and courtesies. Her mind raced, figuring out all she would need to escape.

And that was how she and her cousin found themselves on horseback, riding through the storm. She knew they needed to find shelter soon. While Jonquil was a gentle horse and not easily spooked, the storm was getting fiercer. Neither she nor Robin fancied breaking their necks, and if Jonquil was injured, they had nothing to ride. Besides, they were both soaked to the skin, and Robin was so delicate. She hadn’t rescued them from Petyr’s schemes just for them to die out on the moor.

Wiping the water out of her eyes, she shielded her cousin from the rain as best she could. They must have gone the wrong way, because she didn’t recognize this part of the moor. The wind howled around them, she held her breath as lightning flashed and briefly lit up the world. Hope flared inside her. Was that… After a boom of thunder, another flash of lightning showed the outline of a tall shape. It was too angular to be a hill or a naturally formed thing. Taking a chance, she urged Jonquil into a fast walk. Hopefully, the inhabitants would take pity on two runaways in the storm.

* * *

Sansa sighed with relief that the outline she’d seen was indeed a building. It was an old castle, the rough-hewn stone slick with the rainwater pouring down the structure. She couldn’t see any lights coming from it. Perhaps it was abandoned, or perhaps the inhabitants did not want any visitors? A large barn stood at the side. That would be a better place for them. Better to be uncomfortable than to risk the wrath of whatever inhabitants might be inside.

The inside of the barn was a stark contrast to the outside appearance. Outside it looked dilapidated, with broken stonework and a rotting roof. Inside, it was warm and dry. Bright lanterns hung throughout the barn, and there were at least a dozen horses in their stalls. Several poked their heads out at the sound of their entrance, curious about the sodden intruders, but soon went back to their business.  
“Sit here, Sweet Robin,” she said as she piled the softest hay she could find into a pile. She spread their cloaks over bales of hay, hoping they would be dry by morning. She shed her wet things, leaving herself only in her chemise. She stripped Robin down to his underthings, then laid all their clothes out to dry. She grabbed two horse blankets, one for each of them.

“Allow me to light the brazier for more warmth.”  
Sansa jumped at the sound of a masculine voice. A man stepped out from a large stall at the back. He was well dressed, with copper skin, short black hair, and neatly groomed facial hair. He pulled a large metal brazier close to Sansa and Robin. She shrunk back from him. Would he make them leave?

As if he read her mind, he smiled at her. Unlike Petyr, his smile reached his eyes, and the warmth from them radiated. “I shan’t turn you out into the storm. I would not wish anyone out there, much less two as young as yourselves. Allow me,” he said as he helped her spread out the cloaks so they would dry quicker.

A whinny from the back stall made them look up. “I believe she’s starting. One of my mares, Meria, was almost ready to foal,” he explained.  
“I like horses,” Robin piped up. “Mother let me ride my pony, Artys, often. We couldn’t go far though, because of the mountains. Can I watch?”  
The man looked to Sansa, and she nodded. “You must be good, Sweet Robin,” she told her cousin.  
He smiled brightly at her, and scampered off to follow the man. Unlike Petyr, or many other men, he hadn’t leered at her. He looked at her face, not caring she was dressed in only her chemise. To Sansa, that spoke a great deal about his character. Robin would be safe enough with him. Sansa pulled the horse blanket tighter around herself. With the brazier lit, and all of the horses, it was warm in here. After everything that happened, she was exhausted both physically and mentally. Between that and the warmth, it did not take long for her to drift off into slumber.

* * *

Ellaria stood, not in shock, but in amusement. Leave it to Oberyn to find a couple of strays in their own barn. “Those are strange foals, my love,” she called out as he shook water droplets from his hair. While they may not catch cold as others could, an excess of water would still be uncomfortable.  
The young boy at Oberyn’s side giggled. “We’re not foals!”  
“Indeed you are not, which is why you two shall stay warm and dry in rooms here instead of the barn. Tyene, Obara,” Oberyn called to his two daughters, “take them to a guest room, and see they’re made dry and comfortable. If they are hungry, find them something to eat. Not to drink, but to eat,” he stressed, catching and holding their gaze. They nodded their understanding, and Obara easily took the red-headed woman from Oberyn’s arms.

“Oberyn, what is all of this?” Ellaria’s tone betrayed her amusement, despite her attempt to school her features into a look of mocking censure.  
“They were hiding in the barn, soaked to the skin.” He gazed after Obara, focusing on the long river of red flowing from her arms. “Ellaria, the fear in her eyes when she saw me… Whatever drove them into the storm, we must help them.” When he said no more, Ellaria knew his memories were taking him back to years past, when yet another delicate maiden turned up on their doorstep. The fact that she had not survived would only spur her lover into making sure this one did.  
She wrapped her arms around him, pressing a kiss to his temple. “We’ll protect them as best we can. Daemon!” she called, the young man coming at a run.  
“Yes?”  
“Two strangers have joined us, young mortals. They may be in danger, perhaps chased. We must be careful, and cautious.”  
“Yes, Ellaria. I shall instruct the guards to strengthen our defenses.” Daemon ran off. Ellaria knew he would take care of their safety. The youngest girls needed to be told, or kept away until their visitors left; the maids would take care of all that. What Ellaria needed to do was ensure that Oberyn did not do anything too dangerous. He had a noble, protective heart, and such a weakness for maidens in distress.  
“Come, my love. You need sustenance.” She pulled him towards the dining hall, cajoling him with sweet promises.

* * *

Sansa woke slowly. The first thing she was aware of was a blissfully comfortable and warm bed. The second was that she couldn’t hear the howling wind. The third was a head full of dark, curly hair next to her. As she fumbled to rise, the head turned. It belonged to a young girl, perhaps four or so, and she smiled brightly up at Sansa.  
“You’re awake! Mama and Papa said you might sleep for a long time, and to let you rest. But you’re awake now! I’m Loreza. Who are you?”  
“My name is…” Sansa wasn’t sure if she should use her true name. Perhaps she should call herself something else, to make it harder for Petyr to find her? Would Robin remember to call her something other than Sansa? Had he already told the man their names?

Loreza stared at her, awaiting her response.  
“Sansa,” she said, deciding the truth was simpler right now, “my name is Sansa. My cousin was with me-”  
“Oh, he’s not awake yet. See?” Loreza moved and pointed down behind her. Peering over the edge of the mattress, Sansa could see Robin in the little trundle bed, snoring softly. He was covered by several thick blankets, and Sansa could see his cheeks had regained more of their healthy color. As he shifted, she saw his hair was dry, and someone had changed him into a dry nightshirt. She realized someone had done the same to her. Had that man… her face flushed red at the thought of him seeing her undressed, though she didn’t find the idea exactly unpleasant. “Do you know what happened to our clothes?”  
Loreza nodded. “Mama and the maids changed your clothes, and they’re drying.”  
So it was a woman who’d undressed her. She’d be able to face that man without any awkwardness.

A young woman, blonde and pale, opened the wooden door, her arms full of fabric. “You’re awake- Loreza, you were told to let our guests rest!”  
“But I did! She just woke up!”  
The blonde woman tutted, scooping her off the bed. “Run along now, I’m sure Mama is wondering where you are.” She frowned at Loreza’s pout, shooing her out the door. She turned back to Sansa. “I’m sorry about my little sister, she’s very curious. My name is Tyene.”  
“Sansa, and this is my cousin Robin.” She gestured to the sleeping form in the trundle bed.  
“A pleasure to meet you, Sansa. Your clothes are not dry yet, so I brought some spares for both of you. Are you hungry? I can have the maids bring some food from the kitchens for you.”

The mere mention of food caused Sansa’s stomach to make embarrassingly loud grumbles and growls. Tyene grinned at her. “Food it is. Is there anything you’re averse to?”  
Sansa shook her head, and Tyene told one of the passing maids to bring some food up from the kitchen. The sound of voices finally penetrated Robin’s slumber, and he blearily sat up.  
“Who’re you?” he asked Tyene, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.  
She knelt down to his level. “My name is Tyene. My father is the one who found you two in the barn.”  
Robin smiled sleepily at her, yawning. "He's the nice man who let me watch the new goal. I like him. He's much nicer than Petyr."

Sansa paled. She couldn't risk being turned back to Petyr. With her aunt dead, he was technically her guardian. He could do whatever he wanted to, and she had next to no recourse. While she could possibly get a message to her Uncle Brynden or Uncle Edmure and have them challenge Petyr, she would still be considered Petyr's charge until a decision was reached. Who was to say he wouldn't force her to marry him before that happened? No, she couldn't let that happen. She needed to make sure Robin knew not to talk about their lives before. They couldn't afford to be sent back.

Further panic was stalled by Tyene laying out clothes for Sansa and Robin. “You’re the same size as me, so you can borrow my dresses. And you, young sir, are the same size as our cook’s son, and they agreed to lend you some clothes as well.” The pale blue dress she laid out was pretty and had lace, Myrish lace on closer inspection, at the collar. There was a lovely chemise, beautifully embroidered with flowers and leaves. There were petticoats, including a corded one, embroidered stockings, even a pair of leather slippers that fit her comfortably. Luckily Sansa’s own corset had mostly dried overnight, and wasn’t damaged from the soaking she’d received. Slipping behind the screen in the corner of the room, she quickly changed out of the chemise she’d slept in.

Robin’s clothes were more common, coming from a servant, but they were clean, dry, and comfortable. He seemed to look on everything as a grand adventure, making things easier for Sansa. Tyene excused herself, telling them that their food should be up shortly. She also invited them to join her family in the parlor when they were done with their meal, unless they wanted to rest more.

Sansa sat down on the bed, Robin clambering up next to her. She hugged him close; he was warmer than he’d been these past few days, even with the soaking they’d received, and that knowledge cheered Sansa. “Sweet Robin, I need you to listen carefully,” she said solemnly, looking him straight in the eye. “I know these people have been nice, but we need to be careful. We thought Petyr was nice too, remember?”  
He nodded. “But then Petyr was mean and hurt you, and then he made Mother sick, and after she died he made me sick.”  
A shudder passed through her at the memory of that awful kiss. “Yes, and that’s precisely why we don’t want to be forced back to him. I couldn’t bear it if something happened to you, Sweet Robin.” As spoiled as he was, her little cousin had a good heart and was an innocent in this. “They already know that you’re Robin and I’m Sansa, but we’re Stones, not Arryns or Starks.”  
“But that’s for bastards! We’re not bastards,” he pouted.  
“No, but no one forces bastards to go back to people who hurt them, do they?”  
Robin thought on it for a while, then shook his head.  
Sansa smiled at him. “That’s why we’re Robin and Sansa Stone. No one can make us go back to Petyr that way.” It hurt to hide her Stark name, she was the last as far as she knew. But bastards had anonymity, and in that anonymity was safety for her and her cousin. “Now I need you to be the clever boy I know you are, and remember what I’m about to say. Your mother was my aunt, and she died a few months ago. Petyr is the man we rented our cottage from, and tried to force me to marry him.”  
“It’s almost the truth, but not so much someone could recognize us!” Robin said.  
“Exactly, my smart little Sweet Robin. You’re so clever, I knew you would understand,” she praised. He smiled at her, his little chest puffing up with pride.

A knock at the door signalled food, and an end to their talk. A serving woman entered, holding a tray laden with food. There was bacon, creamy cheese eggs, thick porridge with a small pot of honey, and two steaming mugs of tea with a full pot as well.  
“The tea is made from rosehip, nettle, ginger, and elderberry. The Master said it will lessen your chance of sickness, as well as warm you.” She curtsied to them after placing the tray on the small table, then left.

The porridge was rich, filled with cream and dusted with aromatic cinnamon, and the honey added a wonderful sweetness to both it and the tea. The freshly cooked bacon and the sharp cheese in the eggs offset the sweetness, allowing them to enjoy it instead of being overwhelmed by it. Sansa originally wondered how they would finish all the food between the two of them; with all the stress of Petyr, along with Robin’s mysterious “illness”, neither of them had been eating much. However, she needn’t have worried. Both of their appetites were increased, and they polished off every last bit of food, along with the tea.

Now it was time to meet their hosts. Sansa wondered if she should use the excuse of needing rest, but that was only delaying the inevitable. Taking a deep breath, she and Robin exited their borrowed room. Sansa started at the young man standing outside the, who straightened up from his lean when he saw them.  
“Good morning.” He bowed slightly, smiling at them. “My name is Daemon Sand. I’m to lead you both to the parlor. If that’s where you’re both heading; if not, I can escort you wherever you need. The castle is quite large, and one can easily become lost.”  
“We were indeed heading to the parlor. We would appreciate your assistance.”

Mr. Sand led them through the winding corridors of the castle. It was indeed large, and Sansa knew she would indeed have gotten lost trying to navigate on her own. Much like the disparity between the barn’s exterior and interior, the inside of the castle was far more pleasant and comfortable than the dilapidated outside suggested. Thick rugs covered the floors, and beautiful paintings and tapestries hung on the walls.

Mr. Sand left them at the doorway of the parlor, pleading other duties but let Sansa and Robin know any of the servants would help them with anything they needed. There was a large and cheery fire burning in the parlor, and girls of all ages were busy with one project or another. Sitting in a large chair was the man from the barn, with young Loreza on his knee with a book. A beautiful woman who looked to be about his age was circled by three other young girls, and four others of varying ages were scattered about.

Tyene smiled at Sansa and Robin as they walked in, rising to greet them. “Allow me to introduce my sisters and my parents.” She introduced them from the oldest sister, from a dark-haired woman named Obara who looked like a feminine version of their father, to little Loreza. The man was their father, Oberyn Martell, and the woman was their mother, Ellaria. Sansa curtsied to them.  
“I am Sansa Stone, and this is my cousin Robin. It is a pleasure to meet you all. I cannot thank you enough for the kindness you’ve shown us.”

Mrs. Martell smiled at them. “You do us a kindness by letting us help you.” She turned to her daughters. “Now, it’s time for your lessons. You’ll have a chance to get to know our guests at lunch.” One by one the girls curtsied and left. Mr. Martell gestured to two plush chairs, and they took their seats.  
“While the storm has abated somewhat, it could be some days before it is safe to travel. Two of the streams have flooded, and I shudder to think what the roads are like. Miss Stone, you and your cousin are welcome to stay with us for as long as you like.”  
“Even after the storm has passed, you are welcome to stay,” Mrs. Martell added.

Sansa glanced between the two. They were being so kind, but to what end? Her confusion and fear must have shown on her face, for Mr. Martell’s eyes suddenly became very sad.  
“You are no doubt wondering why we make such an invitation, and if you should accept it. I do not presume to think my words will help, but here you, both of you, are safe from whatever you are running from.”  
Sansa murmured a noise of protest. Robin was thankfully quiet, seemingly having taken her earlier words to heart. Mrs. Martell sighed, holding her husband’s hand.  
“No one rides in a storm such as that unless they are fleeing something, or someone. We make no judgements. Once before, some years ago, another young woman turned up seeking shelter. She was heavily pregnant, and died after a difficult birth. We found her brother, who took in the child as his own. But to this day, both Oberyn and myself keenly feel our failure to protect her.”  
“So you won’t let Petyr hurt us?” Robin piped up. Sansa froze; he’d been doing so well.  
Oberyn shook his head. “Whoever this Petyr is, I swear by the Old Gods and the new that we shan’t let him harm either of you,” he said ardently, a fire in his eyes. Like that in the fireplace, it was warm and comforting in its blaze. Perhaps she was being foolish, but Sansa found herself willing to trust these two.

* * *

Sansa’s decision to trust the Martells proved to be a good one. They gave trust freely, but not foolishly. She often felt that they knew she was lying about her and Robin, yet they never pressed her for more information than the story she’d concocted. Robin grew stronger, no longer sickened by Petyr’s poison. Elia, Obella, Dorea, and Loreza, the youngest four, became his friends and playmates. Sansa spent much of her time with Nymeria, Tyene, and their parents; at their insistence she soon dispensed with last names, calling them Oberyn and Ellaria. Both Obara and Sarella, the oldest and middle girls, preferred to keep to themselves. Sansa did not begrudge them their privacy.

The days turned into weeks, and the weeks into months. Sansa’s fears both faded and grew. She feared Petyr finding them less, but she feared what would happen if he found them more. Now it was not only her and Robin’s safety at stake, but the Martells and their household. She knew Petyr would be furious at their escape, and would not believe them dead unless he saw their bodies.

Things came to a head two months to the day since they’d met the Martells. Mr. Sand burst in during the evening meal. “Riders were sighted five minutes ago,” he said. “Twenty of them, all armed, save for one. They’re canvassing the area, though none can tell for what.”  
“Girls, go to your rooms,” Oberyn commanded. “Take Robin with you. Sansa will stay with us.” His daughters and Robin obeyed without any fuss. Sansa’s breathing grew ragged. Somehow, deep in her bones, she knew it was Petyr.  
“They’re here for me.” She turned to Oberyn and Ellaria, throwing herself at their feet. “Please, I beg you, don’t send us back to him! He killed Aunt Lysa, he would have killed Robin. Please, I don’t want him!” she cried, tears pouring from her eyes.

Oberyn drew her up into his arms as Ellaria pulled out three chairs from the table. They sat down, Sansa between the two of them. “Never, Sansa, we would never send you back,” Oberyn promised.  
“I’ll do whatever you want, just please don’t send us back,” she begged tearfully.  
Ellaria wiped the tears from Sansa’s eyes, then took a deep breath. “My dear we would never send you back to someone who treated you ill because it would be wrong. But we also would not let you go back because it would expose us.” She gazed at Sansa, her eyes soft yet worried.  
Sansa looked between Oberyn and Ellaria, their hands holding her own. What did Ellaria mean, expose them? When Oberyn smiled open-mouthed at her, she gasped. He had two sharp fangs jutting down from the corner of his jaw, the points dimpling his bottom lip. She glanced to Ellaria, who did the same as Oberyn. Her head spun. They were vampires. It explained so many things; why she never saw them eat, why they never went out during the day unless the sky was heavily clouded, why Ellaria’s room had no mirror, and why so many of the servants had bandages. Come to think of it… “I thought vampires drained their victims, but neither of you seem the type to do that. And vampires can’t have children, yet you have eight,” she said.

Oberyn tossed his head; she could see where Loreza had picked that up. “Westerosi vampires often drain their victims, but it is not necessary. We Dornish vampires, along with Essoi vampires, have blood servants that willingly swear themselves to us. We drink a little from each, so that no one person bears the brunt of our feeding. We also feed more often, which lessens the ravenous hunger that causes many Westerosi to accidentally drain someone.”  
“As for the children,” Ellaria said, “full-blooded vampires can conceive, but it is far more difficult than for humans. Obara, Elia, and Loreza are Oberyn’s by birth, Elia and Loreza with me, and all of them are considered miracles. The other girls are adopted, but it does not make them any less our daughters.”  
“Why do Westerosi vampires feed less frequently?” Sansa asked.  
“Though the faith of the Seven may have convinced those in Westeros that vampires are evil creatures, there has never been such a taboo in Dorne and Essos,” Oberyn explained. “Those there hide only because of Westerosi hunters. The Faith’s propaganda makes it difficult for Westerosi vampires to feed often enough, as too few folk will trust them.”

An idea formed in Sansa’s head. “What else can a vampire do?”  
Ellaria indulged her curiosity. “Apart from conceiving children, there are few differences between full-blooded, or born, vampires and made vampires, those turned from a bite. We are all weakened during the day, and direct sunlight will burn us; if out long enough, we will die from our injuries. We can sense emotions, and even in a crowd can pinpoint who is feeling what. We are faster than mortals, able to run at a horse’s gallop for a week or more before tiring. We can cloak ourselves in shadow. Both full-blooded and made vampires can turn humans. However, made vampires will always feel a connection to the one who turned them, and if that one dies their progeny will sicken, sometimes dying themselves. This can be averted by another vampire giving some of their own blood. They thereby bind the other to them, in a way similar to that of a vampire and their maker.”  
“We have few weaknesses. Sunlight, Valyrian steel, and dead blood. Some things that will kill humans kill us as well, such as beheading, burning, or a stake through the heart,” Oberyn chuckled. “Are you wanting to become one of us, or are you simply curious?”

Sansa blushed, embarrassed at being found out so easily. “It’s simply that… if I… I… if I did become one of you, then no one could hurt me,” she whispered.  
Two pairs of eyes grew soft as they looked at her, Ellaria leaning forward to kiss her forehead. “Even if you never became a vampire, we would still make sure no one harmed you.”  
“Aunt Lysa tried to protect me as well, and now she’s dead. I want to be able to protect myself. I can’t swing a sword or outfight anyone as I am. If I was a vampire, I could. And I could protect Robin as well, or anyone else. And this way, we would never be parted.”  
Oberyn peered at her, his hand lifting her chin to meet his gaze. “This is truly what you wish?”  
Sansa nodded. Whether it was the Old Gods, fate, or some other force guiding her, she was sure and calm. It felt right, like she was meant to choose this all along. She looked evenly at Oberyn and Ellaria. “Yes. This is what I wish. I wish to be a vampire, like both of you.”

Ellaria unbuttoned Sansa’s dress, pulling the bodice down to her waist, and yet Sansa felt no shame in Oberyn seeing her like this. She trusted them both. She loved them both. The realization hit her like a bolt of lightning, her eyes widening. Just as their earlier confession made things clear for her, so too did her acknowledgement. The glances, the lingering touches, the special softness that graced their faces in her presence. She gripped their hands. “I love you, both of you. I don’t know when I started loving you, but I know I do. And I know you both love me,” she said softly. Ellaria cupped her cheek, and Sansa smiled at her before kissing her, causing the other woman to gasp happily. Turning to Oberyn, she did the same, feeling him smile against her lips. “I’m ready,” she told them.  
“This will sting at first, but I promise you will quickly feel better,” Oberyn promised. Seeing his fangs extend fully, she tilted her head to give him better access. He kissed her neck, where her pulse fluttered. She felt a sharp pang as the fangs pierced her skin. As he said, the pain swiftly faded, replaced with a feeling of sleepiness. Before long, he withdrew. Biting his wrist, he offered it to her. “Drink slowly,” he said. Leaning down, she sucked at the puncture, reveling in the coppery tang. After a few moments, he pulled away. Ellaria led her to the parlor, laying her on the couch.  
“Sleep, my love, and we shall be here when you awake as one of us.” Ellaria kissed her, leaving Sansa surrounded by the smell of orange blossoms and copper as she drifted into slumber.

* * *

Sansa awoke slowly. Reaching up to her neck, she felt two smooth circular indents where Oberyn bit her. She glanced up to see Petyr standing over her, still in his greatcoat. She struggled to sit up, grimacing at the feel of his hands on her arms as he helped her despite her attempts to push him away. “Sweetling, I’m terribly sorry I didn’t find you sooner. Has anyone hurt you?”  
“Where are they?”  
“My men are searching for them. Fear not, they’ll never hurt you again.”  
“They never hurt me. They protected me, they promised they would,” she protested. If he harmed anyone, or if he’d done so already… Sansa felt icy anger grow in her heart, a burning cold that spread throughout her body.

Petyr smiled at her; oh, how she hated those imitations even more, now that she knew what true smiles looked like! His eyes never left her bodice, which had obviously been buttoned in haste. “Sweetling, whatever they told you, whatever they promised you, I can give you better. Money, jewels, dresses, art, a fine house. Whatever you desire, I will find it for you.”  
“The only thing I desire is love, and I have already found it here,” Sansa said coldly. A dull throbbing sounded in her ears. Somehow she knew it was his pulse, the flow of his lifeblood through his veins. Her stomach churned with hunger. “You could not give me better than what I have found, for you do not truly love any but yourself. I am simply a prize for you, no better than a porcelain doll to make do as you wish,” she snarled at him, her patience at its limit. She rushed forward. In an eyeblink she stood in front of him, causing him to start with surprise.  
“How–”  
“You’ll never hurt me, or Robin, or anyone else, ever again,” she said, feeling her fangs descend. He stared at the tips protruding from her lips, fear and horror filling his face. Before he could react, she reached forward. Grabbing him by the coat, she yanked his head to the side and sank her fangs into his neck. His screams echoed in her ears, but she paid no mind to them. His entire life was filled with selfishness, a callow disregard for those he saw as no better than prey, and now he was her prey. Petyr’s struggles lessened as more of his blood gushed into Sansa’s mouth.

When Sansa knew he was dead and drained, she dropped him to the rug. Oberyn would not mind the blood stains; it was an ugly rug, and he’d be glad of the excuse to get rid of it. Turning, she saw him and Ellaria in the doorway, blood staining their own mouths.  
“Fear not,” Oberyn said, “all his men have been taken care of. When we realized there was one missing, we rushed back here. It seems you took care of him yourself.”  
“Your powers have come surprisingly quickly,” Ellaria said. “It usually takes a made vampire a day or more to complete the change.”  
Oberyn looked at Sansa thoughtfully. “Are you, by any chance, related to the Starks?”  
Sansa blushed. “I am the eldest daughter of Eddard and Catelyn Stark. Forgive me for not telling you both earlier.”  
“There is nothing to forgive. You were being cautious, and your dealings with him,” Ellaria said as she gestured to Petyr’s corpse, “certainly could not inspire you to trust. How are you feeling?”  
“Overly full, as if I just gorged myself on an excessively large meal,” Sansa admitted.  
Oberyn draped his arm around her waist, the other snaking around Ellaria’s. “The best thing to do is rest, and you can do so after we assure your cousin that everything will be fine.”

* * *

_**Modern Day,** _ **_Westerns_ **

Sansa stared out the window at the fierce storm, remembering that fateful night so long ago. A whimper made her turn around. Lyanna, her youngest daughter, looked at her with wild eyes as lightning lit up the room. Sansa picked her up, cuddling her on the couch. “Don’t worry. Daddy and Mum will be back soon,” she crooned, feeling Lyanna bury her face in her mother’s neck.

So much had changed since she escaped Petyr, not the least being her children. When she fell pregnant not long after first sleeping with Oberyn, they called an Elder Maester of Vampires to visit from Essos. She and Ellaria had been surprised when they learned that as a Stark, Sansa was a dormant warg, though Oberyn confessed he’d had his suspicions since her extraordinarily quick gain of vampiric powers. Her blending of warg and vampire blood meant many things, one being that she was far more fertile than even a full-blood vampire, as her six children attested. Eddard, Catelyn, Lysa, Alysanne, Benjen, and Lyanna were joys in her life. All of them followed her mixture of warg and vampire, something still a mystery to the world. Catelyn, Benjen, and Lyanna could shift into wolves, while the rest of her children could shift into bats.

The door opened to Oberyn and Ellaria, tossing their soaked coats onto the rack.  
“You’ll both put those where they belong,” Sansa called, “I’m not dealing with slippery floors again.” Shuffling sounds told her they were complying. The last time they’d left their coats laying about, poor Obella had slipped and soaked her new dress.

Oberyn strode in. “How is our little wolf?”  
“Daddy!” Lyanna launched herself out of Sansa’s lap. Only years of practice, combined with vampiric speed, allowed Oberyn the ability to swoop her up into his arms before she crashed into him. She snuggled into his chest, whimpering as another clap of thunder sounded.  
“Don’t worry, my little wolf,” he said as he smoothed her dark auburn curls. “You’ll be fine.”  
“We won’t let anyone or anything hurt you,” Ellaria said as she came in. “Just ask Mommy.” She gazed lovingly at Sansa. “Shall we tell her how we met?”  
Sansa smiled, nodding. As Lyanna listened with wonder to a slightly fantastic version of events, she forgot about the storm. Gazing at her lovers and daughter, thinking of the happiness that filled her life, Sansa was grateful she’d gotten lost in the storm all those years ago.


End file.
